Dark Doo Wop
by murdur
Summary: Ragnarök is upon Asgard, and Sif knows exactly where Loki will be.


_This world is gonna burn, burn burn burn_  
 _As long as we're going down..._  
 _Baby you should stick around_  
 _Baby you should stick around_

* * *

The universe is burning. Everything is ash and fire, and there is so much _death_. Even for the Goddess of War, one so intimately familiar with the realities of battle, it is too much to comprehend.

Ragnarök is upon them. Surtr the fire giant had ridden into Asgard upon the dawn with his army from Muspell, setting flame to anything that stood in their way. With them came beasts and creatures she had only ever heard tales of, demented and frenzied in their pursuit to consume the entirety of the Realm Eternal.

She has been fighting for what feels like ages; riding out to meet the giants with the might of the Einherjar behind her, Odin leading them to the battlefield, to the streets of the city. She watched her friends and comrades turned to dust, dragged and torn to pieces. But still there was hope, the idea that this could be stopped.

The warrior stands upon the edge of the palace grounds, her sword cutting through beast and bone, ushering the men, women, and children fleeing in the streets free from their attackers towards the safety of the forest beyond. The shieldmaiden's battle attire is tattered and battered, her skin smudged with ash, dirt, and gore. Her blood sings fierce with the call to battle, but her heart cries out with anguish.

Her entire world is in chaos. Odin dead and torn apart by the monstrous wolf Fenrir. Thor falling lifeless just paces from where he defeated Jörmungandr, serpent of the sea. Her home is burning.

And perhaps the most cutting realization comes from the knowledge of the one responsible for all of this before her. Silvertongue. Fire Bringer. World Destroyer. Loki.

She knows where his seat will be to watch it all burn, turning her eyes towards the high tower of the golden palace and she makes up her mind. She moves quickly, stepping over rubble and limbs in her journey upward.

She finds him thus, dressed in his golds and blacks and greens, with his great horned helmet curling from his crown. He stands at the balcony edge, looking down upon the kingdom, upon the wreck and ruin he has wrought.

He turns at the sound of her entrance and the clatter on her sword to the ground, and her shield too. He is thinner, more gaunt than she has ever seen him despite the bravado and scope of his attire. His hair too, is longer than she can ever recall; the curling ends of it fluttering at his back in the coming night breeze. He surveys her gestures with a smile.

"Lovely Sif," he calls, his voice deep and slippery. Sif shivers at the sound of it, thinking of the ages that have past since she last heard the sound, the nights she'd spent longing to hear his whispered words in her ear once more. "Well this is quite unexpected." He motions out across the landscape before him with a welcoming flourish. "Please, join me. There is still much carnage and slaughter to be had. The fun has only just begun."

Sif moves slowly forward to stand at the edge of the railing, tearing her eyes away from his hollow face to the view of the realm below. From here, it could almost seem peaceful, with the falling ash fluttering like snow, and the fires casting an eerie warm light upon the golden city in the coming night. But even this great height cannot hide the screams and cries below. The horror stills the air from her lungs.

"Abandoned your compatriots so soon?" Loki asks in an off hand manner.

"I had to find you," she breathes turning away from the city, stepping closer to face him.

"Darling heart," Loki cocks his head to the side, stepping closer to her. Close enough to touch, lifting a long hand up to rest on her cheek, sweeping filth and ruin from her skin with a tender touch. "A part of me always imagined it thus. You and I, together at the end."

There is a faraway look in his eyes, and Sif knows what he must be thinking, remembering a time that neither one will ever be able to return to; one they both turned their backs upon. Of course she longs for it too. They were so good together, she and him. He was clever where she was brash, she was fierce where he was cautious, and together they had a spark that was incandescent.

Her own body responds to his touch, leaning into his palm, her heart warring in her chest. She closes her eyes against the Loki that stands before her, his face tinged with madness and turmoil. Where did the boy she grew up with go? What happened to the man she loved?

"You don't have to do this, Loki," she opens her eyes to peer into his own, that swirling blue that held so many secrets. How many times had she gotten lost in his gaze, trying to read the truth of his feelings behind the lies of his words.

"Oh but I do," he shakes his head sadly, moving his hand from her cheek to cradle the back of her head. "It was never a choice, not truly. Did you know, dear Sif, that the Midgardians predicted this ages ago? All of it; my true self, Thor and Odin's demise. Ragnarok was my destiny, an unavoidable end. It appears that our fate was written in the stars."

"Loki, please," she lifts a hand to his chest, thinking of the heart she knew he once had. "It's not too late. You can stop this, call this all off. This does not have to be the end."

"I do regret that it has come to this," his laugh is bitter and feels like cold water down her spine. "But this is our destiny. There is no stopping it now."

He brings his other hand up to her face and leans forward, bringing his forehead against her own. She closes her eyes once more at the touch, so familiar and intimate yet so strange and wrong. Sif lifts one hand to his face, her other hand reaching behind her own back.

"Oh Loki," she murmurs. _Loki_. The one she knew is gone, fallen from a bridge and dead on a dark world. She loved that man, the one with the boundless curiosity and goodness in his heart. She holds onto that, let's it steel her hand and her heart. "The stories got one thing wrong."

He opens his eyes, lifting a brow in question.

"Me," she breathes against his lips, sliding the blade of her dagger into his ribs, into his heart.

Loki gasps at the pain, his eyes and mouth open wide in surprise. But still clutches to her. "Sif?"

His body is heavy as it slumps, and his blood runs hot over her hand, making the hilt of the dagger slippery. But she holds firm, cradling the face of her ex-lover with a fire in her eyes that mirrors the destruction at his feet.

"Sif," she confirms, stooping to the ground as his knees hit heavy against the golden floor.

Sif of myth is Wife to Thor and nothing more than a few scribbled lines of meaningless text.

Sif of Asgard, is so much more; Goddess of War, Lover of Loki, Savior of Worlds.

"This is not my end. Nor Asgard's. Your tale is not my own, Loki."

She lays him across her lap, feeling his grip upon her weaken as he gasps and splutters, a wicked grin pulling against his paling lips. "Sif. Lovely, loyal Sif."

When she leaves the tower, she leaves a part of herself, her heart, behind. She wipes the tears from her stained cheeks and lifts her chin high. Her story's end is yet unwritten.

* * *

Title and song lyrics from MS MR's _Dark Doo Wop_ , which has always been the ultimate Sifki Ragnarök song for me. This fic and the two others I've recently posted are from a Loki/Sif fanworks exchange hosted on AO3. Enjoy!


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